Confederate
by JessND
Summary: <html><head></head>She couldn't help but hope. Hope that he was out there somewhere, unharmed. She knew that she always would, to her dying breath, because it was him. Her life was his and it always would be, through age and death...Through time and change...</html>
1. Chapter 1

***Stephanie Meyer owns Jasper, Maria and any other recognizable characters...I own the plot, except for recognizable events that were mentioned in Twilight.***

"_I cried  
>Never going to hold the hand of another guy<br>Too young for him they told her  
>Waitin' for the love of a traveling' soldier<br>Our love will never end  
>Waitin' for the soldier to come back again<br>Never more to be alone when the letter said  
>A soldier's coming home…"<em>

Traveling Soldier by Dixie Chicks

Prologue: An Empty Casket….

"_I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that_

_Believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:_

_And whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never_

_Die."_

Empty, hallow, lifeless. I was nothing and yet I was everything. I am pain, I am dead. But I am alive, all of this hurt is just more and more proof that I am still living.

Why?

Why am I still alive? How have I not toppled over, dead, when he is gone? How is it possible to continue living when I have no reason to? My reason is dead, and yet there is no proof of his absence, no body for closure.

They couldn't even give me my goodbye, I would never be able to say goodbye.

I could only imagine his eyes, his lifeless, empty eyes. Eyes that once shone so bright, eyes that I had once gazed into. But never again would I see those eyes, filled with so much love, so much life. No, never would I look into his beautiful hazel eyes again. Never would I feel his warm hand clasp mine, never would I feel his lips brush against mine. He was gone and I am empty.

"_I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand_

_At the latter day upon the earth: and though this body be_

_Destroyed, yet shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself,_

_And mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger."_

The casket is closed, the wood soft and smooth, but there is no need for it. He is not there, it is empty.

No, he would never rest in his expensive tomb. He would lie forgotten by his comrades, on the cold, damp floor. But I wouldn't forget, I would never forget him, the one man I could ever and will ever love. Forever in my heart shall he live, for time and distance, age and death, shall never change my feelings. And my unchanging heart beats in his cold pale hands; the heart that is his until it drums no more.

"_We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain_

_We can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord_

_Hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."_

Name, his name is engraved on the wooden cross laying precariously in my hands; his name is engraved on my heart.

His name, the name forever on my lips, the name I shall whisper before I die.

His name….

"_May Almighty God, the Father, the Son, and the_

_Holy Ghost, bless you and keep you, now and for_

_Evermore. __Amen__."_

_Jasper Whitlock._

A/N: I just want to say that I am sorry if the mention of god in this chapter offends anyone. Research has told me that in the 1860's, people were pretty religious (in the south at least) and I wanted to make this as historically accurate as possible. Yes, this is about Jasper, but it's about his human life. Alice isn't really going to be in this except for the epilogue, when I just recap Jasper's vampire life. I'm sorry if this sucks, but I'm used to creating my own characters, not running with someone else's.

Also, I am writing three other stories along with this (I have a short attention span:/). One is about Alice/Jasper and another is just a foggy outline, while the last isn't for Twilight. R&R please.

Jess3


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One: Eve of Destruction….

_Don't you understand what I'm trying to say?  
>Can't you see the fear that I'm feeling today?<br>If the button is pushed, there's no running away,  
>There'll be no one to save with the world in a grave,<br>take a look around you, boy, it's bound to scare you, boy,  
>but you tell me over and over and over again my friend,<br>ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction._

_Eve of Destruction by Barry McGuire_

Panic.

People ran around wildly, screams of fright echoed through the town as bombs burst over head. It was a warning, a warning of the approaching army that would offer no mercy.

I try to make my way through the crowds, to get to the small church that now worked as a hospital.

Bang!

My feet give out from beneath me and I am pushed roughly to the side; there is crying now, louder than before. Slowly, I lift my head, fearing the sight that awaited me. Not even fifteen feet away a woman lie clutching a young child for dear life. A child that was now motionless and pale, a child with a glassy stare.

Making my way slowly to the woman, I fight back the tears I feel. There was too much death, there was too much loss.

We were being defeated; I was being defeated.

"My baby, my baby…"

The woman's whimpers are easily drowned out by the panic that surrounds me; the fear that seems to increase with every second.

I want to help, but I know there is nothing that I can do. It is too late for this woman and I am needed elsewhere, where men lay side by side in a long row of beds.

The church doors loom ominously as I approach, the small cemetery peaks out solemnly from behind. Inhaling a deep breath, I savor the fresh air that I will be deprived from when I walk through the threshold that led to Hell on Earth.

Pain….Death….

There is no way to escape the screams that I have become so accustomed to, no way to block out the begging. And the smell, the smell of death, the smell of fear and despair. It clings to everything…The cots, the blankets, my clothes, the people.

It hangs in the air, like a putrid fog that shows no sign of lifting, of showing the sun, of showing us hope.

No, it won't lift, but settle. Bring depression amongst us all, nurses, doctors and wounded alike…Especially the wounded…

I linger a little longer near the doors, fighting the urge to turn and run. Run away from all of this pain, from reality. But I can't, I am rooted to the floor as I stand in shock. The room is filled to bursting with wounded and dying men, but there is only one woman tending to their needs.

"Melanie, what are you doing here? You should be leaving, escaping while you still have the chance,"

Dazed, I shake myself from my reverie and turn to face Dr. Allman.

"What is happening? Are the Yankee's really that close?"

My voice is laced with panic as the reality hits me: the Yankee's were coming.

"You must leave, Melanie. It is dangerous,"

"No," I shake my head determined. "I am staying; I will not leave these men to die. There are not enough hands to help them as it is; loosing me is a death sentence for half the men in this room"

He could not protest; he knew that I was right, but I wished that he did, that he would send me away and I would never have to see this morgue again. That I could go home to my Aunt's and hide from the war, from the world. But he didn't, he simply nodded and turned away.

Three days, three long and tiring days that I have been trapped in the church. It seems like eternity since I saw the sun, since I felt the dirt beneath my feet and I am beginning to fear that I will never see the outside world again.

It is too quiet and it scares me to think of what that might mean; there are no more bombs, but that means that there is no more fighting. There are no screams, but that is because there are no more men to cry. There is no sun, but that is because there is no hope. We will fall, we will be captured.

Sometimes I like to pretend, pretend that there are no deaths and that I am home with my mother again. We would sit on my aunt's porch talking about the upcoming spring and other silly things, things that there is no more time for, or she would force me to attend the annual Charlus Ball despite my many protests.

But my daydreams cannot last forever and I am soon back to reality, standing in the middle of the church unsure of what to do.

It has grown oddly silent, eerily empty beyond the church doors. The quiet frightens me more than the noise; the quiet is foreboding.

I don't know what the newfound peace means and I am worried that it is a sign that we have lost.

A week has passed since we have seen any other sign of life besides ourselves. There has been no news of the war, but I can sense that something is wrong.

When the wind howls it seems to bring a warning of impending danger, when night falls it brings a curtain of protection, but not for us: for them.

Yes, at night is when they will come; whether it be The Protectors or The Enemies, I do not know. But come they will and soon.

It was like any other night; cold and dark, foreboding. But I couldn't shake my fear, the fear that was clenching my heart with its icy cold hands, causing me to shudder.

Pulling my cloak tighter around myself, I glanced over my shoulder. I knew that it was dangerous to stand alone in the night, but I needed time to think and fresh air. During the day, it is too busy, at night though most of the injured sleep, searching for a way to escape their pain.

_Crack!_

My head snaps up and I search wildly through the night. I see nothing but I can sense the presence of another.

"Hello?" my voice quivers and shakes, coming out timid and unsure. No one answers my call and a cold shiver runs down my spine. "I know you are there,"

No answer.

Bu then it happens.

A man stumbles forward, almost drunkenly, his right arm hanging loosely.

"Oh my,"

Quickly I run forward, not caring that this could be the enemy soldier, and steady his steps.

"Dead. All of them, dead."

**A/N** Mari! I finally posted the first chapter! I'm sorry that this has been so depressing so far, I am just trying to be as factual as possible and this does take place during the American Civil War. Not everything I write about the war is 100% factual, but most of it is. This takes place in 1862, the year before Jasper is turned (I looked it up) in Texas (where Jasper lived his human life). Also, there really was a man named Allman (John Allman) the only difference is that he was an actual Confederate soldier, not a doctor.

I am sorry to say that the next update won't be for a while because I have to study for my Human Anatomy and Physiology exam that is in a week, but I will write whenever I can, as fast as possible.

Thank you,

Giselle (Jess)

P.S. I'm going to try to make my chapters longer, but I can't promise anything. Just remember that it is about quality not quantity.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two: War of Terror….

_oh say can you see its really such a mess  
>every inch of earth is a fighting nest<br>giant pencil and lip-stick tube shaped things  
>continue to rain and cause screaming pain<br>and the arctic stains from silver blue to bloody red  
>as our feet find the sand and the sea is straight ahead..<br>Straight ahead...Well it's too bad that our friends  
>can't be with us today well that's too bad "the machine<br>that we built would never save us"_

_1983 (A Merman I Should Turn to Be)-Jimi Hendrix_

"Dead. All of them, dead."

The moon shined brightly down upon us, giving me a slight glimpse of his pale face, of the crimson blood streaked on his skin. He stumbled slightly slurring his words to the point of incoherency.

"I need…"

And he collapsed against me, his weight nearly knocking me to the floor. I tried to hold him up, but he was too much so, instead, I sunk to the floor cradling him in my arms and rubbing soothing circles on his cheek.

"Your safe now, I'm going to take care of you."

I whispered as his eyes fluttered shut. Knowing that we couldn't stay out in the cold any longer for fear of hypothermia, I called franticly for help. But my eyes never left the face of the beaten soldier, the soldier that was nestled in my arms like an angel.

Dr. Allman had rushed out of the church doors, eyes flashing wildly as he searched for me and the cause of my pleas of help. When he finally seemed calm enough to see that I was safe, he hurried forward muttering curses beneath his breath.

"What happened to him?"

He questioned not even bothering to look up at me, instead his eyes assessing the man in my arms.

"I don't know he appeared out of nowhere mumbling like a mad man. He fainted before I could question him,"

I could tell that he was not satisfied with my answers, but he did not question me further. Instead, he nodded and grabbed the mysterious man, hauling him up and slinging his arm around the soldier's torso.

"Miss Odette, run ahead of me and prepare this man a cot, then bring me boiling water and some cloth."

My eyes drooped heavily making it difficult to reopen them each time I blinked. Exhaustion, I was so tired, but I wouldn't allow myself to sleep. Not until I knew if this mysterious soldier was safe, if he would survive.

"Melanie, dear. You need to sleep; you look as if you're going to topple over any minute."

Came the voice of Mrs. Allman, Dr. Allman's middle aged and kind wife. Turning ever so slightly from my staring, I gave her a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine, really"

She didn't seem to sure, but she knew arguing with me would get her nowhere.

"All right dear, but at least eat something. It will do you no good to starve yourself to death,"

"Of course, I will"

I promised before turning back to the object of my attention. It was difficult to get a good look at his face, since it was covered in bandages, but I could make out a prominent and aristocratic nose. His skin was unnaturally white due to the amount of blood he had lost, and his lips were no better. Blonde hair fell in curly locks over his forehead, too long for the current style.

In this condition, he was by no means handsome, but from one look you could tell that in good health he would be absolutely stunning.

I sat for so long staring curiously at his face, wondering what color his eyes would be, if they would look haunted like so many other men's eyes did.

Does he have a family waiting at home for him, a wife? Maybe she was with child and he was dreaming of rocking a baby back and forth.

His lips twitched ever so slightly, looking as if he was about to smile, but it turned into a grimace of pain and a cry escaped his lips. Without thinking, I grasped his cold hand, squeezing it ever so gently and whispering words of encouragement to him.

"Ambush…"

He mumbled quietly as he tossed and turned, sweat drenching his brow.

Then I realize it; he was having a nightmare, he was dreaming about the night he had appeared her, like a ghost. He was reliving the battle that had driven him here, weak and near death.

Horrible and unwelcome thoughts crossed my mind, like a deranged story that never seemed to end. All of the pain he must of went through, all of the people he had seen die; all of the people he had killed.

This man had taken others lives away, this man had killed—this man had _murdered_.

But he had been fighting for his life and for his home. He had fought for what he believed in. Maybe he had been drafted, maybe he didn't really believe in the Cause.

Maybe he held no beliefs of whether the war was right or wrong and just stayed neutral, like me. When he finally wakens I will ask him.

But what if he doesn't awaken? What if he stays in a nightmare filled slumber until he dies, slowly, from his wounds?

It saddened me to think of someone so young-someone that has barely lived his life-to die. And it angered me that someone, the north and the south, thought that this war was worth all of the loss and all of the pain.

Had this man ever had the chance to start his own life? Travel the world, raise a family, and love another?

To grow old…

A single, solitary tear leaked from my eye as I thought of all the things that he, or any other soldier, could miss, would miss.

And that's when it hit me; this man intrigued me like no other, he made me curious of the world and of life, and I didn't understand why. He was a complete stranger, yet he made me hope, believe that if he could survive this, then maybe I could too, maybe there was hope for the world and the war.

**A/N**: Phew, this chapter took forever! I'm really, really nervous about this one, it doesn't seem very good (to me, at least). But it was nagging at me and I just _had _to write something. Okay, I wanted to show what was going through Melanie's mind (oh, her full name is Melanie Odette (weird, I know but it was the only last name I could think of)), what she thought about the war, and her curiosity towards Jasper. She is really confused and is struggling with conflicting emotions, so she doesn't really know what she believes in (she is only, like, 17-18?) and she has lost a lot (learn more later on). No, she isn't in love with Jasper (at least, not yet) because I believe love is a lot more than just 'I saw him and immediately fell for him' (that's attraction, which is important to a point, but not love). She is just intrigued by him, why, I don't know; she just feels drawn to him.

Giselle (Jess)

P.S. I got 94% on my Exam! Yay! Anyway, summer vacation starts on Monday for my school, but I am taking online summer school (no, I _was_ not forced because I'm failing, but because I am trying to graduate early), so my updates won't be any faster, unfortunately, but maybe a little slower. I will _not_ give up on this story (I'm an Aries, so I'm stubborn and adamant)!

Long and boring authors note is finished:p


	4. AUTHORS NOTE

***This story is being postponed for a short period of time due to familial problems arising. Note: This story is POSTPONED not cancelled or abandoned***

Hello everyone, it saddens me immensely to have to do this but I have recently lost someone very important to me and will be travelling all the way to Ohio (from Oregon) for nearly three weeks. I will NOT be posting for about a month because my aunt will be needing all the help she can get to plan the funeral (my uncle Ronny died, he was amazing and I hope he rests in peace), taking care of her four kids and just being there for emotional support, this has been really difficult for her especially since my dad (her brother) is commissioned in Iraq and won't be able to make it to the funeral. I hope that you all understand.

Giselle


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